


Outlaw Cloud

by zephfair



Series: Old West AU [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Cloud is the worst attempted outlaw ever, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Wild West AU, it's a good thing he's so cute, or so Sephiroth believes, pre-Cloud/Sephiroth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10085381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephfair/pseuds/zephfair
Summary: In a frontier town left ravaged by Shinra, one man runs the saloon with an iron hand and a famous long rifle until his life is forever changed by an encounter with a first-time armed robber.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sephcounttheways](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sephcounttheways/gifts).



> This is my poor attempt at a gift fic for the incredible [sephcounttheways](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sephcounttheways) after I failed miserably at answering her prompt from a writing meme. This little story was based on [this post](http://owmyhearteries.tumblr.com/post/157797526646) on Tumblr because it made me laugh.

Sephiroth was kneeling behind the counter, trying to get the glasses sorted back into some kind of order, when he heard the creak of the saloon doors swinging.

“We don’t open until noon,” he called out then swore under his breath when boots stepped forward anyway. “I said, we’re not open.”

He got to his feet irritably and noticed three things immediately: first the barrel of a tiny single-shot pistol pointed at him, followed quickly by numbers two and three--the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen above a faded bandana.

Sephiroth’s hand was reaching for his trusty rifle under the bar without thought but he stilled when the robber’s gun twitched and he said, “P-P-Please sir, hands up.”

Sephiroth smirked and didn’t move. The kid—it had to be a kid, he was head and shoulders shorter than Sephiroth and rail-thin, possibly underfed, only his voice deep enough to hint that he was an older teen—was shaking hard enough that the gun was visibly trembling.

Sephiroth had already noted the rust and dirt on the tiny pistol pointed in his direction. He had no doubt he could dodge the only shot, be over the bar and overpower the kid in a heartbeat—if the poorly cared-for weapon didn’t misfire and take off the young man’s hand. And that would be a true pity.

“Please, sir, just put your hands up. And give me all your money,” the kid implored again.

Sephiroth slowly slid his hands up to shoulder height then stopped, asking, “Now how can I do that?”

The kid’s head tilted for a second then he tossed an old feed sack on the counter and grasped the tiny gun with both hands, but it only seemed to shake more. “Fill that up. Please?”

“No,” Sephiroth said patiently, “how exactly am I to put my hands up and then give you the money? I’d have to put my hands down again, and then you might shoot me.”

The kid’s eyes widened then squeezed shut as though he was rapidly trying to think. Or, Sephiroth thought, when the brilliant blue eyes reopened with fire in them, maybe Sephiroth’s insolent attitude was getting to him.

“I’m a r-r-real bad m-m-man, honest,” he growled, or tried to, sounding about as vicious as a kitten attempting to attack a mountain lion.

Sephiroth let his eyes widen and slid his hands over to pull his shirt collar closed in an exaggerated manner. “Should I be worried about my virtue then? Just how bad a man are you?” he purred, and he could literally see the sweat pop out on the kid’s forehead and cheeks as his eyes grew huge.

Sephiroth suddenly understood Angeal’s irritating and totally unexplainable tendency to coddle Zack when he was training the apprentice. This boy was amusing Sephiroth greatly, and he was, in fact, rather as adorable as a kitten.

“Sir, p-please, just give me the money,” the boy begged, voice tremulous again.

“But, as I told you, we’re closed. And I’m afraid I haven’t been to the bank yet this morning, so I have no money,” Sephiroth explained carefully, eyes now trained on the gun’s up-and-down and side-to-side motion as the boy swayed a little. “I suppose you could take it out of me in other ways.” And with the graceful motion that left every woman—and frankly, most of the men—speechless, Sephiroth tossed his head and pulled his glorious hair around over one shoulder.

He was sure the kid bit off a moan.

While they stood there at an impasse, Sephiroth cataloged the kid’s clothes—very poor and threadbare but carefully mended; the concealing bandana—also faded but at least one hole had been darned in tiny stitches; and the large, wide-brimmed hat that couldn’t totally conceal some light blond hair peaking out around the edges. The kid would be a knock-out if he had some weight and muscle on him. And some basic gun safety, Sephiroth mused, as the kid used the back of the hand holding the gun to distractedly wipe at the sweat on his forehead.

“Wherever did you find that gun? It looks like an antique woman’s piece, more for a last defense than an armed robbery. Have you ever even fired it?” Sephiroth asked.

The kid cradled it to his chest before remembering he was supposed to be using it as a threat. “It’s my ma’s gun. We don’t have no need for pistols, but it’s sure easier than carrying my rifle in here,” the kid said, eyes blazing again and voice firm with the passion that was starting to enchant Sephiroth.

There was little real passion in the town anymore, since Shinra had finally pulled out. The company typically moved into a settlement, took over the mining operations and got rid of any competition that dared raise its head. Then they took over all the land, rented it to the settlers for a premium and moved on once they’d stripped all the resources they could.

Sephiroth had moved back to Midgar after he’d finally gotten out of the Shinra’s private army, or as the company publicly called it, the private company protection division.

The town had already been pillaged by Shinra and was only slowly finding its own way now that it was free. But no one in Midgar or anywhere else had ever caught Sephiroth’s eye with such a mixture of bravado and sheer ballsiness. This kid was capable of a lot more than attempting to hold-up a saloon before lunch.

“Won’t your ma be missing the gun? Or is she in charge of your gang? The mastermind of your robberies?” Sephiroth teased.

The gun suddenly leveled out right between his eyes as the kid stepped forward. “Don’t you talk about Ma like that,” he ground out. “She’s sick and I promised I’d bring her some medicine. Now, put whatever money you got in the sack. Sir.”

“I told you, I haven’t been to the bank yet. You’re welcome to wait here until we open at noon,” Sephiroth said. And then with an uncharacteristic sting of guilt, he said, “I’m sorry I joked about your ma. I hope she gets well soon.”

The kid nodded then shook the gun at Sephiroth. “Don’t you have any money hidden away?” he asked. “I ain’t waiting around.”

“I could give you something,” Sephiroth murmured, meeting his eyes again, but the flirting went over the boy’s head. “Why don’t you have a drink? On the house. It’ll settle your nerves.”

The boy twitched then shrugged. Sephiroth reached for the cheapest, roughest bottle of rotgut that he had, the homemade moonshine he only served to the poorest miners looking for the quickest drunk. Or when he wanted to strip the varnish off the bar counter to refinish it.

He poured a shot and slid it toward the boy. The kid reached for it with his free hand, tugging the bandana down with the hand that still held the gun. “Thank you, sir,” he said and Sephiroth almost cooed. The boy’s slightly rounded cheeks were colored with a rouge of embarrassed pink, and his lips were perfectly formed. Sephiroth had known it would be so.

He leaned an elbow on the bar and rested his cheek in his hand as he watched the spectacle. The kid had probably never had anything as potent and certainly never anything as rough. It was a good thing the kid slung it all back at once quickly, before the alcohol could curl his nose hairs, but he was obviously not ready for the punch.

His eyes met Sephiroth’s as they began to water, and Sephiroth smirked as the boy’s Adam’s apple worked, apparently caught in the terrible decision of whether to swallow the burning alcohol or spit it back out. Sephiroth admired his courage to swallow, even when he gasped loudly and panted. “Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat,” he croaked and coughed, and it took him two tries to get the shot glass back onto the bar with a clunk.

“Guess you don’t drink much,” Sephiroth drawled, not moving as the boy used the bandana to wipe his eyes and face, still moving the gun around as if he’d forgotten about it. “It’ll put hair on your chest.”

“I don’t need hair on my chest,” the boy snarled between coughs.

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you are such a bad man,” Sephiroth teased again. “If you stay here, I could definitely make a man out of you.”

That seemed to get through to the boy whose face blushed all over into a blossom pink that Sephiroth suddenly longed to touch. “Just, please, give me whatever you got so I can be on my way,” the boy said.

And Sephiroth sighed at all the things he could say in response when a loud shout from one of the early morning carters rang out from the street. The kid jumped and the gun swerved toward the doors like he’d just remembered the weapon.

Sephiroth realized he’d better stop while he was ahead before the boy accidentally hurt someone or himself. Or before someone else barged into the saloon and mistook the situation and tried to hurt the kid.

“The till really is empty, but here.” Sephiroth shook out his pockets and found a little over $3. He dropped it onto the bar then ducked underneath to find the lunch that the boardinghouse lady’s daughter always wanted to press on him whenever he had plans to start work extra early.

He pushed the basket toward the kid, too, and watched the boy take a deep breath as if he could smell the delicious leftovers through all the wrappings. The kid probably _was_ half-starved, Sephiroth thought.

“I’m sorry I can’t help with the medicine, but if you try the general store—”

“No,” the boy interrupted with a frenzied head shake. “They weren’t no help. I’m sorry I had to do this, sir, I really am. And when I get us back on our feet, I’ll pay you back, I swear.” He scooped up the money, shoved it into a pocket then picked up the basket with something more like reverence.

“Just run along home,” Sephiroth said. “And put the gun away. You don’t want someone to see and get yourself in trouble.”

The kid stopped and looked back at him then smiled a smile that made Sephiroth wonder if he had accidentally been shot in the chest from the way the warm feeling spread through him. “Thank you, sir,” the boy said.

He bumped into Zack who picked that moment to careen wildly through the swinging doors in his usual manner. “Oops, sorry, about that! You okay?” Zack asked. “Hey, didn’t I see you earlier in the… okay he’s gone.”

Zack ambled up to the bar where Sephiroth was just standing. “Didn’t think you were open yet.”

“I’m not. Zack, do you know that boy?”

“No, but I saw him earlier in the general store. Mr. Lockhart was arguing that he couldn’t give out any more flour or supplies on credit, certainly not any medicine, that’s much too expensive to trust a little shit like you,” Zack said, impersonating the gruff old shopkeeper’s voice.

“Do you know of any blond settlers around here?”

“I think there’s some up the mountain, in that little settlement they call Nibelheim.”

“Nibelheim,” Sephiroth repeated, mind whirling. “I remember it, five or six families, up in the middle of nowhere. They get snowed in at least five months a year. This might be the earliest I’ve seen one of them around town.”

“Huh, it was a rough winter,” Zack agreed. “So what was that kid doing in here?”

“Robbing me.”

“Robbing _you_?” Zack yelled and Sephiroth had to smirk at his reaction. “Didn’t he know who you are?!”

“Obviously not.”

“Wow, that’s just… wow.” Then Zack perked up with a grin. “Should I go get Angeal and Genesis and raise a posse? We can find him in no time!”

“No,” Sephiroth snarled and Zack had the good grace to look sheepish. “But I do want you to go after that boy and stop him—gently, no violence—just detain him and bring him back here before he rides out of town.” Sephiroth yanked his apron over his head and vaulted the bar. “Meanwhile, I have to go see Mr. Lockhart and explain the good sense of helping to keep potential customers alive during a harsh spring.”

“Will do,” Zack rushed out of the bar and Sephiroth allowed himself a little grin.

He would do whatever it took to get in the boy’s good graces and get his mother well so that he could convince them to move into Midgar proper. Then Sephiroth would enjoy taking it out on the boy and teaching him exactly what it would take to be a man and an outlaw.

(And then Zack dragged Cloud back to the saloon by the scruff of the neck, kicking and hissing like a furious kitten, but Sephiroth had all the supplies Cloud needed for the village loaded up in a borrowed wagon, including the medicine for his ma. And Cloud had hearts in his eyes as he delivered the much-needed supplies, so as soon as his ma got better, they moved down the mountain to Midgar where Cloud worked off his debt as an odd-jobs boy. But his favorite duties were helping out the blacksmith Mr. Hewley (which mostly involved sitting on a barrel quietly out of the way while Angeal beat on those long, hard steel rods with his shirt off, all sweaty except for the leather apron) and his assistant Zack (who taught him all kinds of things about being a better potential outlaw). But his favorite times were spent with Sephiroth either helping out in the saloon or finding an empty field and learning all about how to properly shoot and care for his weapons.

And then there was the time that Cloud lost a bet to Aerith and had to wear the costume Aerith (the daughter of the boardinghouse proprietress) had just conveniently “borrowed” from the Honeybee Inn brothel and serve in the saloon, but that worked out okay because he ended up spending most of the night on Sephiroth’s lap while Seph played poker with his friends and serving them drinks exclusively. And although all the saloon regulars begged Sephiroth to tell them where the “little lady” had run off to, she was never seen there again, much to Cloud’s delight and Aerith’s disappointment.)

**Author's Note:**

> Is it bad that I really want to write more fluff and nonsense in this universe? ~~Yes.~~ But does the world really need any more? ~~Definitely not.~~
> 
> My hodge-podge of a Tumblr is [here](http://zephfair.tumblr.com) and I'm always looking for more FFVII buddies!


End file.
